The First Incision A ZexVex Fanfic
by ExanimatusEtCruentus
Summary: Vexen is a sadistic man, he enjoys the spilling of blood, and uses any chance to 'decorate' people with his scalpel. ZexVex, Rated M for gore and mature subject matter. Vexen's POV. Don't read if you're under 14. Yes, i'm twisted. Enjoy, please review!
1. Chapter 1

The First Incision - A ZexVex Fanfic - Chapter One.

Screams split the night. The boy's limp form bound to the chair, straining at his bonds, was a blank canvas, as appealing to me as the sweetest flower, the most beautiful thing in the world. I smiled slightly, turning to the little wretch who thrashed and screamed, holding a gleaming scalpel, twisting it in my fingers to admire it under the dim glow of the bulb hanging overhead.

A sweaty sheen glistened slightly on the boy's bare chest, yet still he kicked and cried out, his long fringe falling to obscure his contorting face. I leaned over the chair in which my victim, my gloriously blank canvas, was held captive.

"As much as I am enjoying the sound of your pitiful screams, you will have to be silent. We can't afford to have somebody show up here, now can we?"

He looked up at me as I said these words, at my sinister smile, then deep into my eyes, which no doubt sparked with anticipation, and shuddered. He attempted to turn his face away, but was restricted by the clamp around his brittle neck. I leaned over a little more, a tendril of my own hair brushing the bridge of his nose, causing him to flinch violently.

"If somebody were to show up, I might, ah, _forget_ where I am, _forget_ how to hold myself steady. If I got carried away, who's to say I couldn't…"

I gripped his chin, forcing him to look up at me, half-choking him in the process. His face betrayed his sick disgust, and poorly disguised terror. I held the scalpel to his neck

A smirk twisted my face as I whispered the word.

"Slip."

I released the boy's head, letting it slam back against the chair. Stepping back, I allowed myself to savour the view, then stepped smartly back into position, scalpel gripped tightly in my unwavering hand.

Though the slender boy strained at his ties, his face stricken with agony, he stayed blissfully silent as I made the first incision.

That was the very first time that I subjected Zexion to my intense desire for pain, other people's pain. He was exposed to my thirst for agony, my hunger for victims that writhed as I bring my scalpel down onto seamless flesh, slicing and nicking, causing me to descend shamelessly into my personal pleasures.

That boy was one of the first to wander into my trap, he had beautiful porcelain skin, the kind that made me want to plunge my scalpel in deep until it scraped bone, to decorate it with intricate patterns until my stark white lab coat was soaked in crimson and the walls peppered with scarlet blood.

Of course, there had been others, other victims. Some who were just curious, some who were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. I enjoyed toying with them, it was wonderful, yet something about the slate-haired one, Zexion, drew me to him stronger than anyone had ever done before.

That was the reason Zexion ended up strapped to the very same chair as before, in the very same place, making, regretfully, the very same amount of noise. I soon put a stop to that.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter two. WARNING: Contains bad language on two occasions, and sadistic thoughts that are Vexen's, not mine! XD~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My array of tools shone dangerously under the scrutiny of the flickering bulb. The almost emaciated boy thrashed in the chair as I let my hands linger over each instrument, assessing what I could do with each one.

I weighed a particularly sharp blade on my palm in an almost apathetic manner, all the while surveying the exposed chest of the wretched boy in the chair. He had a delicious pattern of scarlet lines adorning the skin under his collarbone.

With my free hand, I trailed my long fingers over the raised marks where the sharp blade had sliced his ivory skin. I was pleasantly surprised at how restrained I'd been the last time I had the boy at my mercy.

A strangled noise made me whip my head up, tear my gaze from Zexion's wonderfully mutilated neckline to look at his face, which displayed an expression of perturbed horror. Following his disgusted gaze downwards, I stared at the chair, not entirely sure where I was supposed to be looking. Then I noticed the stains. The material covering the chair was, in places, encrusted with streaks of dried blood.

"Ah yes, I didn't get a chance to... clear up... after your last little visit."  
I let a twisted smile contort my face, grinning at the boy in a disturbing manner. Zexion looked as if he were about to be violently sick.

"Now, lie very still."  
I pressed my palm against his vulnerable stomach, lightly pressuring the boy against the chair. He visibly recoiled, as if from a serpent about to strike.

My scalpel I had chosen slid gently over his lower chest, opening a miniature gulf out of which red rivulets spilled, trickling down the body of the blade and onto the cuff of my lab coat. The blood met fabric and blossomed into a crimson flower.

Zexion squeezed his eyes shut tightly, perhaps in silent prayer, I didn't know. The blade of the scalpel criss-crossed, parting flesh as easily as a knife through butter.

The boy squirmed in pain, yet I noted his silence. In fact, he had he made any noise beforehand? I couldn't recall it. Perhaps he had taken heed of my warning the previous session? I glanced at the boy's face, which displayed a look of determination, crippled with agony. Somehow, I couldn't imagine him backing down... But then, why was he lying there, quiet as the dead, as I carved into his delicate skin?

Suddenly, he cried out. I looked down sharply, seeing my blood-soaked hand pushing the scalpel in almost to the hilt in Zexion's stomach.  
Shit!  
I tore my hand away, removing the blade in one swift motion, causing Zexion to attempt to double over in agony, restrained by his ties.  
How had I gotten so distracted?

I hurried to the cabinet mounted on the wall, full of surgical supplies. Pulling various potions and mixtures aside, my hand finally closed around an antiseptic numbing concoction.  
Sense took over my mind and I wrenched the boy's arms free of their bonds, taking an old lab coat from it's hook and thrusting it into his hands.

"Staunch the flow, now! I barked, grasping his wrists and forcing him to cover the scarlet fountain spraying from his lower chest.  
"Hold it still!"  
I unscrewed the lid of the fluid and poured it haphazardly onto a rag i'd somehow found in my panic. Hurriedly, I shoved the boy's arms out of the way and pressed the rag over his gaping wound.

Zexion stared at me, still holding the lab coat, sopping with his wasted blood, which he allowed to slide onto the floor. I sensed that he may well have followed if his lower body wasn't still secured to the chair.

One hand holding the rag in place, one rummaging in my selection of medical tools, I found what I was looking for. Triumphantly, I held up a large needle and a spool of surgical thread.  
Wordlessly, I handed Zexion the crimson rag, which he took hold of gingerly.  
I then proceeded to ready the needle and position it above the wound. The lustrous scent of his blood was driving me insane, I had to act fast, or I'd never bring myself to stop the flow.  
with one jagged motion, and a piercing intake of breath from Zexion, the needle poked awkwardly out of the other side of his parted skin. The boy grit his teeth as my needle plunged in and out of his tender flesh, I won't deny that I felt some kind of pleasure in this activity.

When I had finished, I swabbed the wound with antiseptic, stepping back to observe my handiwork.  
Convinced that Zexion would indeed live, I released the boy from the chair.

He did not slump to the ground as I had expected. He instead attempted to launch himself at me, but blinding pain in his torso caused him to stumble. He clutched at the stitching.  
I blocked him easily, gazing at his defiant face, exposed to his steely glare.  
I pushed him forcefully towards the door. He tried futilely to struggle against my grip.

"Go. Now." I glared back at him.

He turned back before he opened the door, his bony fingers gripping the handle, turned to speak. To me. I will never forget the look that contorted his features as he said this, not for as long as I live.

Face twisting in anger, he spat at me.  
"Bastard." He said, then ran out of the door, kicking it shut behind him.


End file.
